Fran puts her books down, pulling on the green-blue ends of her hair. ‘I was sent upstairs, but I could hear him pleading with Mum. He said he had you under control, that you were getting treated. And he was blaming Tom’s behaviour on some Mikey bloke. “All Mikey’s fault for planting ideas in Tom’s head,” he said. That he’ll “sort them both’’.’
‘He’ll sort them?’
Fran’s stiffly held face collapses. She looks suddenly younger. ‘What’s going on?’
‘The stark truth: I think our parents are involved in murder to protect some sinister secret about Leata.’
‘Murder?’ she balks. Her eyes fill with water again. ‘What secret?’
‘That it might be harmful,’ I say back, before I add, ‘I’m really sorry if Tom upset you. If I’ve ever upset you.’
She opens her mouth to say something and stops, as if she’s just realised who she’s talking to. Her eyes hardening, she gathers up her books and walks away from me. I watch her turning out down the corridor, her head bowed amidst the hordes of wide-beaming girls, tossing their shining hair.
Him
Three pairs of eyes turn to me. One belongs to the headmaster; the others to police.
My heart starts beating an erratic rhythm. Sitting there – in the centre of the headmaster’s desk, as if it’s some poor animal on a vet’s table – is my Puma bag. And beside it – three transparent bags set in an ordered line. I recognise them enough to know they’re no washing powder granules.
I hardly hear the headmaster begin to talk. The drumming of my heart is so loud now I can hear nothing else, except the voice in my head. I’m being set up. I’m being set up like Dad was.
I am tuning back in as the policewoman to my right takes over from the headmaster. ‘An anonymous call told us to search your belongings … you understand, Tom, we have to take this kind of thing very seriously. Immediate expulsion is the least of your worries.’
‘It’s a prank,’ I hear my voice finally croak. ‘That’s not mine.’ My limbs are starting to go numb.
The policewoman steps closer to me. She’s using official words, familiar only from TV, ‘arresting you …’, ‘right to remain … ‘, ‘anything you do say …’ I can hear my breath rapidly leaving my nose. PharmaCare are the police. The police are PharmaCare. I’m in a Kafka nightmare – saying anything is pointless. Because this is payback. They can do what they want to me. They got Dad in the end. They’re going to get me.
Her
All I can do is breathe in and out all the way to Vauxhall, one foot in front of the other. It’s the only plan I can think of: start with Mikey; find out why Dad’s after him; if Mikey’s on Tom’s side or not. I can only pray that he is.
It starts to rain. Drizzly, spitting rain from sagging grey clouds overhead as I approach the entrance to the shelter under the train arches. I spot Mikey stood on the step outside, sucking on the stub of a cigarette between nicotine-stained fingers like it’s his last chance at oxygen. Next to him – a man with a Father Christmas beard and a thinning fur hat. Recognising me, Mikey plucks out the cigarette, stamping on it with a grim-faced smile. ‘You here for me, darlin’?’
I nod, tightening my voice so I don’t start blubbing or something. ‘I’ve got to speak to you about Tom.’ I try and soften the suspicion in my tone.
But Mikey doesn’t hide his. He makes a curt nod of his head at me and turns to say a slow goodbye to Bearded-man. ‘Make sure you come back tonight, Barney. I’ll make good on a bed for you.
‘Poor Barney.’ Mikey cocks his head backwards as he waves his pass at the security pad and we enter into the shelter. ‘Would you believe five years ago ’e was a banker in the city with a beautiful wife and twin daughters? We’re all a few bad decisions away from destitution. Right?’
I nod. Right now – I couldn’t agree more.
I follow his limping gait into the canteen, finding myself calmed by the serenity of the apple-green seats and the blue sky walls. Even the residents seem different. Unless it’s me that’s different. Some are finishing lunch. Others are chatting, or reading. A couple are playing a card game.
‘Is Aggie still with you?’ I ask Mikey, searching the canteen for the girl with the blonde dreadlocks from last time. Maybe I can properly chat to her this time.
Mikey pulls a face. ‘Aggie? No, Aggie’s no longer with us.’
‘She got her own place?’ I ask, expectantly.
‘You could call it that.’ Mikey crosses his chest. ‘Went to one of them PharmaCare ’Ealth Farms – only way the doc’d agree to renewin ’er meths’ prescription, right? I don’t see many of my guys again after they ’ad treatment there. An’ I didn’t see Aggie either. But I heard about ’er. Found dead. And guess what? Coroner just ruled it ’eart failure. Lots of weak ’earts in London town at present, you ask me.’ He kisses the silver pendant around his neck. ‘’Oping she’s some better place now.’
I’m staring hard at Mikey’s wizened face. My own heart pumping double time. ‘Why couldn’t someone have helped her?’
‘Someone? Oo’s someone then? That you? Or government wiv their quick fix solutions that are all about makin’ money outta happiness?’
He relaxes his face when he sees the expression on mine. His voice softens too. ‘Listen, girly. Everyone keeps poppin’ them happy pills so they can pretend life’s pretty; blame ugliness on those who look ugly to their eyes. But life ain’t pretty.’ He makes a dry laugh. ‘Like those Georgian ladies that used to wear wigs an’ perfume to cover the smells of their unwashed bodies … we spray out scent to ’ide the dirt beneath. But don’t mean the smells aren’t still there … does it?’ He continues walking into the kitchen.
I smile a hello back to purple-haired Tammy, her arms deep in washing-up suds, and follow Mikey into the stock room, like Tom did when we were last here. Inside, Mikey turns on me swiftly, ‘Is Tom okay? Not ’erd from ’im.’
I’m breathing fitfully. I’m still reeling from the news about that girl Aggie. I feel somehow responsible. Like I’m no better than Dad. ‘Tell me first – whose side you’re on. Tom’s? Or PharmaCare’s? My dad’s a lawyer for PharmaCare and – ’
‘Oh, I know oo yer dad is, sweet’art.’
‘And I heard him talking about some information they wanted from you – I thought you were Matt Riley’s friend? – yet you’ve been selling PharmaCare something?’
Mikey scratches his temple, looking thrown. ‘Yeah, all right.’ He sucks in breath through his teeth. ‘PharmaCare were sniffin’ round me after young Tom brought them to my door, weren’t they. I was gonna sell Matt’s last bit of research for his story to make ’em bugger off. Earn some money for St Paddy’s at the same time. Cos that’s my priority, always ’as been, them boys an’ girls who are invisible to the rest of you lot. Right?’
‘Isn’t Tom your priority too?’
‘Yeah, well.’ Mikey bites down on his lip. ‘I ’ad Tom in mind as well. I weren’t gonna give it to ’im, cos I wanted ’im to back off and stay right out of it.’
‘He hasn’t.’
Mikey nods slowly. ‘Yeah. I was startin’ to get that impression. That’s why I ’eld onto what I ’ave. Sold off summit else. Some bullshit information. Stuff Matt wrote ages ago. Bought my guys a week’s worth of food, it did.’
I take a deep inhale, trying to slow my heart rate. I can’t think properly with my blood surging into my ears.
‘Can I see what it is you have of Matt’s?’
Mikey draws in breath. ‘Told yer – that’s summit I’m keeping as collateral for me – or Tom if ’e needs it.’
‘He needs collateral right now,’ I say urgently.
Mikey examines me, breathing out the smell of stale smoke. He gets out a packet of tobacco from his shirt pocket. Unfolding it he shows me a small memory stick nestling inside. ‘Carry it on me all the time. Safest place.’
He folds the packet back up. ‘All the same with you, I’d rather put it in Tom’s hands meself, if �
�� ’ His mouth freezes on the last word.
I follow his gaze. Back to the door.
13
Life’s short. Enjoy it!
Leata
Her
I stare at my dad standing there. Flanked by two others. One’s that good-looking detective who was waiting for Tom on his drive on Sunday. The other … Slicer.
‘Hope! What are you doing here?’ Dad hisses through gritted teeth. Knee-jerk, I step back, half-cowering behind Mikey. Except it’s soon apparent. They’ve not come for me.
‘We have some more questions for you.’ The detective steps forward towards Mikey as I step even further behind.
I feel Mikey fumbling for my hand, discreetly pressing the tobacco pouch into mine. I push it quickly into my jacket pocket.
‘Brought the pitbull with you?’ Mikey nods his head at Slicer, who’s started wandering through the stockroom. ‘Know why ’e’s called Slicer?’ Mikey twists round to ask me. ‘Cos he used to be known for getting what he wanted outta people … with a cheese slicer. That’s the kinda company yer dad keeps.’
‘Get over here, now,’ Dad snarls at me.
I stay put. Mikey’s saying calmly, ‘I told you all I know last time you visited. Transaction complete.’
‘Like to talk to you all the same,’ the detective replies, tilting his head in a way that seems to say, you’ve no choice in the matter. ‘The pitbull here will help you if you won’t come.’
Slicer comes back towards us, cracking his neck one way then the other, as my dad steps forward. ‘Or how about DS Miles here arrests you for taking young girls into your store room? We can make her say whatever we need her to say.’ Dad reaches for my arm, yanking me over to him.
‘As if I will corroborate any of that!’ I shout at him, trying to pull back towards Mikey, standing in front of him as if I might protect him somehow.
‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ Dad spits out, dragging me away again. ‘You’ll say what I tell you to say. You’ll think what I tell you to think.’
‘It’s all right.’ Mikey turns to me. ‘Let’s not get nasty. I’ll come with you.’
DS Miles smiles ‘good man’ and starts leading him out, Slicer trailing behind them, a salacious sneer all for me drawn on his face.
Dad makes a vice-like grip on my arm. ‘I’m not coming home with you,’ I say.
Tammy’s purple head appears round the door. ‘You all right, love? Need any help there?’ as Dad pushes his face into mine. His familiar aftershave makes me feel sick.
‘You come with me now,’ he whispers tightly into my ear, ‘or I will get my contacts at the council to shut this godforsaken place down – pronto.’
I draw a sharp breath. I think of Aggie, and the others out there. Of Barney with the Father Christmas beard promised a bed for tonight.
Forcing a smile back at Tammy, I answer, ‘I’m fine, just fine.’
Him
Students and teachers stare, half-horrified, half-curious, as I’m paraded out the school’s front doors towards a police car.
I managed to excuse myself for the loo before we left. I cleared my phone’s call log and all its messages. Not before time – the policewoman searches me and confiscates my mobile before we drive away.
Glancing out at the view, we’re soon crossing over the M25.
‘Why aren’t we going to a station near school?’ I ask as we pass signs to London.
‘We have instructions to take you somewhere else,’ the policewoman replies curtly. Both fix their eyes out front as if they don’t want to look at me. As if it’s them who’re the guilty ones.
My mind’s already filling with scenarios of what’s going to happen to me. At least I’ve passed what I know to Hari and Pavlin already. OpenFreeNet can still release that. Now, I’ve just got to protect them all. Admit nothing, whatever they do to me. My heart speeds up another gear.
A while later we’re crossing Lambeth Bridge. Dropping down from the street into an underground car park.
As the car pulls up, and they lead me out of the back seat, I see him, across a line of parked cars.
‘Mikey?’ I shout out. He’s being directed into a lift. By Ethan bloody Miles. I gulp air. Trying to reconcile both Ralph and Hope’s warnings about Mikey – with the fact he’s here now with Miles. So he is betraying me? He betrayed Dad?
‘Mikey?’ I say again as the lift doors shut out his face, and a Suit fills my vision.
‘I’ll take over from here,’ he says to the policewoman holding my arm.
Her
I sit in the back of Dad’s car, staring out of the window at the darkening sky. Stars are forming, pricking alight the further we drive out of London’s smog. I never liked travelling in Dad’s car; its ever-present new car smell always makes me feel sick. There’s a box of Leata in the seat pouch in front of me, its slogan facing out, ‘Life’s short. Enjoy it!’
Dad wears gloves to drive; the only noise filling the silence is the sound of their leather moving against the steering wheel. He’s refused to talk since he pushed me roughly into the backseat. He won’t answer my questions about what’s going to happen to Mikey.
Even when I threw out the accusation that Dad hired Slicer to kill John Tenby and added, ‘Did you kill Matt Riley too?’ he refused to answer me.
By the time the car pulls smoothly into the drive, I’m half-faint with frustration. Dad pushes me inside. I hear the feet of my sisters scuttling away upstairs. Mum is standing all agitated by the table in the kitchen. A large glass of white wine beside her. ‘Jack! Rose and Lily are in their rooms like you asked,’ she tells Dad, her eyes flitting between me and him; nervous, as if she knows that Dad’s going to blow. My whole body’s tensing for that moment too.
It comes as he closes the door.
The slap on the side of my head sends me half-flying across the room. A sound storms my left ear, as if water’s rushing in. I lift my hand to it as he comes in at me again, slapping my cheek this time.
‘Not her face, Jack,’ I hear Mum pleading. ‘People will ask questions … not her face!’
Dad backs away, hissing at me. ‘Not only are you openly slagging off Leata, but you’re plotting behind my back with people who want to see PharmaCare brought down! Do you want to kill me? Do you?’ He comes in again, coiling my top in his hand so my face is forced close to his. I can smell his last meal on his breath; see right into his bloodshot eyes. Spittle pools at the corners of his tight mouth.
He shoves me backwards so I fall into the handle of a drawer, spiking my back. I yelp out in pain as he continues, ‘You’re to blame! Defied me, disobeyed me as a child, constantly.’ I watch his fists flex. They have Mikey. Tom hates me. Imogen is leaving. Helplessness grows mould-like inside of me.
Him
The Suit blandly pushes me forward to the same thin silver lift doors Mikey disappeared through. He scans a pass card, before the doors open. Together, anger and panic are brewing a storm in my stomach, as the Suit leads me into the lift – it descends – then out again, into some kind of concrete basement. We walk down a corridor of low ceilings, and eventually into a windowless room with just a table and four chairs. The Suit shuts the door as he leaves. I take a seat, staring round at grey walls and a concrete floor. There’s a camera up high in one corner, a red light on it.
I sit there and start having stupid thoughts, from will Mum bury me next to Dad? to wanting to know what will happen to Dad’s Puma bag they confiscated, when the door opens again. DS Miles walks in slowly, chewing gum.
‘Tenacious little sod, aren’t you? What the hell were you doing at Nina Mitchell’s house?’
My heart answers for me, thumping maniacally against my ribcage as he takes a seat opposite me, throwing Dad’s notebook onto the table. ‘Makes for interesting reading.’
‘How d’you get that?’ I say, rubbing a hand over my mouth.
‘We had to search your stuff at home too. Check there were no other drugs there.’ He pulls my phone out of his
pocket and slides it back to me. ‘You cleaned that up like your dad deleted his emails.’
My jaw clenches at the mention of Dad. ‘I want to go home.’
‘Oh and you will. Your mother is distraught, naturally. The plan was to keep you in a Health Farm till your trial, but your mum’s refusing. Kicking up a right stink actually. Didn’t know she had it in her.’
I raise my chin higher, feeling a rare rush of pride for Mum, and notice the video camera light has turned to green. Miles stares round at it too.
‘Who’s watching us?’ I ask.
‘Why do you care? You’re a teenager, you’re always being watched – why else does the internet know what you want to buy before you do!’ He re-adjusts himself in his seat.
‘I know you’re not police,’ I say. ‘You work for PharmaCare.’
‘What?’ The U-bend smile comes out. ‘I’m kosher mate, the real deal.’ Miles flips his jacket open to show a gun holster strapped to his chest I never even knew he carried.
‘As in mafia kosher? And I’m still not your mate.’
Miles tips his head and taps the side of his nose. ‘No – as in your mum’s taxes pay for me. My job – is to take care of secrets that threaten national security.’ He widens his eyes as I narrow mine. ‘Like the death of one Leata inventor.’
My mind flashes with the river outside. ‘Where am I?’ I say, my voice thin.
‘Thames House. Secret Service.’
‘You’re MI6?’ I almost stutter.
‘MI5. Why do people always get that wrong,’ Miles smiles broadly.
My heart speeds up.
‘So the Secret Service plant drugs on me to stop me asking questions about PharmaCare?’
‘Tom, Tom.’ Miles shakes his head slowly. ‘You’re jeopardising a serious investigation. We had to take steps to silence you. Fairy steps,’ he adds, as if this is nothing. Nothing compared to what they could do.
‘You’re working for PharmaCare,’ I say again, as if I’m not getting through.
Miles places a hand beneath his chin in thinking pose. ‘MI5’s remit is to protect the safety of society. Not to allow mind terrorism to hijack people’s quality of life,’ he says as if he’s quoting from some textbook.
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